


Devil's Cabaret

by lacrimalis



Series: Vessels of Void and Fire [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Genderless Protagonist, Other, Pre-Slash, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 13:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15438369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacrimalis/pseuds/lacrimalis
Summary: Given that the Knight had summoned the Grimm Troupe entirely by accident, they couldn’t help but find it presumptuous that Grimm insisted they play a part in the troupe’s strange Ritual.Also, the Knight doesn't know how to dance.





	Devil's Cabaret

**Author's Note:**

> I can't beat Grimm so I'm coping by writing fic about it, don't @ me

The Knight summoned Grimm and his troupe entirely by accident.

Lately they had gotten into the habit of prodding walls with their nail in search of hidden passages. There were many reasons to do this -- including the chance of finding mask or soul fragments, or even just a geo cache that some long-dead insect had secreted away.

After finding a discrete ecosystem at Kingdom's Edge in the form of the Hive (and a mightily powerful charm in its depths), the Knight was only more convinced of the necessity of testing every wall they came across, like a miner testing the quality of the stone.

A pickaxe might have come in handy, but they didn't want to be caught unawares without their nail to hand -- and they feared the Nailmaster might throw himself from a high cliff if the Knight had the gall to ask him to reforge a pickaxe, of all things.

This idiosyncrasy of the Knight's to leave no stone unturned took on a new shape when they received the dream nail from the Seer. They marveled at the ability to read the thoughts of others, and they took every opportunity they could to use it.

What they found most remarkable was the dream nail's ability to read even the echoes of thoughts from those long since passed. Doing so prepared the Knight for the fight against Nosk, when they might have been convinced by the creature's shapeshifting without the clues from its former victims. It also gave them insight into Leg Eater, the paranoid termite in the Fungal Wastes. The Knight had never begrudged the bug his paranoia, considering the danger of the ruins, but they saw Leg Eater’s fierce protectiveness of his geo in a new light when, after using the dream nail, they realized the corpses outside the termite’s home had been slain trying to take it from him.

These moments of insight fascinated the Knight, and so they continued seeking them out.

This lead to the strange discovery which resulted in their current predicament.

As they were tapping at walls in the Howling Cliffs, they discovered an ancient passage, and deep within it they found the corpse of a strange bug with a patchwork hood of red cloth. Its clothes alone merited further investigation.

The Knight used the dream nail.

No thoughts came to them through the connection rent by the nail. This in itself was not odd; some creatures had simply been too long dead for the echoes of their thoughts to resonate.

Yet as soon as the dream nail struck true, the atmosphere felt... strange. They didn’t feel as if they had fully entered the dream world, like they did when they accessed the minds of their recently slain foes. It was more like the way powerful ancient warriors manifested  _themselves_ in the real world when the Knight challenged them to prove their mettle.

But nothing in the small alcove, not even the lonely red-hooded corpse, seemed about to spring out and attack.

Walking with slow unsurety, the Knight began to leave the way they’d come -- only to stop dead in their tracks when they saw a new feature dominating the cave, where a moment ago there had been nothing but stone.

A tall pillar stood ominously in the center of the chamber, smooth and grooved like cut obsidian, and it reached toward the ceiling like the outstretched branches of a tree.

Or a grasping, clawed hand.

The Knight’s hackles raised; they reached for their nail and scanned the room, but saw no movement.

Perhaps a savvier bug would have left the strange object well enough alone. But the Knight had thus far been handsomely rewarded for their curiosity, and so when nothing living appeared to threaten them, they crept closer to the room's center.

At the base of the pillar was a bed of coals surrounded by a grate, warmly glowing, and its warmth beckoned them. Experimentally, they struck their nail upon the metal grate. The coals sparked, and the air shifted, as if anxious for the Knight to light the fire. They followed this impulse readily, just as they had followed the impulse to strike at walls, or to brandish their dream nail at anything that looked like it might once have had a pulse.

The coals burst to life, and at the top of the pillar the palm of the grasping hand exploded with blood red flames. The Knight looked around the room as the walls shook, and saw four more hand-shaped torches they had failed to notice in the gloom, but which now shimmered with their own carnal light.

The Knight braced themselves as rocks fell and the earth quaked, ready to dash away at a moment’s notice in case of a cave-in. But after a long moment, the shaking stopped.

All was still and silent, save for the crackling and spitting of the flame.

* * *

Given that the Knight had summoned the Grimm Troupe entirely by accident, they couldn’t help but find it presumptuous that Grimm insisted the Knight play a part in the troupe’s strange Ritual -- that they were, in essence, _obligated_ to take part, by virtue of a compact they couldn't recall agreeing to.

Yet they accepted the responsibility anyway. The strange flying imp that Grimm had entrusted into the Knight’s care was endearing, and hunting the flames was another challenge to face, something else to occupy their time while they gathered their strength for what the White Lady claimed to be their purpose.

The first set of flames was acquired easily enough; the Knight was somewhat thrown by the wraiths’ ability to pass through solid walls, but after they learned the patterns of their movements, they were dispatched in short order.

Then came the second batch of flames, and this time the Grimmchild could hold its own in a fight, blasting its kin with fire from afar. The Grimmkin were stronger this time, but the Grimmchild’s fireballs made the fights more manageable.

The Knight expected to bring the Grimmchild back to the ominous red glow of the troupe’s campsite, have Grimm work whatever magic he did to make it stronger, and be sent off to collect more flames.

Instead, what happened was this:

“Very well done,” Grimm said. His voice was gravel in a velvet pouch, rustling in a spacious wet cave. His mouth did not move. “And swiftly, too. Now... this next part of the Ritual involves a dance.”

The Knight stared at Grimm. They would have blinked, were it within their power to do so.

“Do you know how to dance, little shadow?” Grimm crooned.

The Knight shook their head.

Grimm didn’t seem disheartened by this; in fact, his grin widened as he said, “Then we have a lot of work to do.”

And so the Knight began their instruction under the Nightmare King’s watchful firelight eyes.

It was grueling work. The Knight had been dispatching more powerful foes all the time as they delved deeper into the ruins and the long-forgotten corners of the fallen kingdom, and had grown more powerful accordingly. But dancing with Grimm was a frenzy of movement and exertion all wreathed in flame, gestures with no purpose, steps with no rhyme or reason. It was more physically taxing than any challenge they had faced thus far.

And the Knight flinched from Grimm’s touch. Every twirl and dip and guiding hand made the Knight freeze up and stumble, disrupting their practice and forcing them to start again. This only exhausted the Knight further, and they desperately wished they could overcome this particular reaction. To their mind, it was the most significant difficulty they were facing under Grimm’s tutelage -- because Grimm was a remarkably competent and patient teacher, for all that he looked like the unhappy offspring of thorns and fire.

But the dance made the pulse of the Knight’s core quicken as if in the heat of battle, and each touch made the Knight imagine they were being struck. It was only for a moment, but it was long enough that it disrupted the quick and inexorable rhythm the dance called for.

“Hm,” Grimm hummed in thought as the Knight panted heavily, inky blots of shadow dripping up and away from them. “You are making progress. But perhaps we should cut this lesson short. My troupe has a show tonight.”

The Knight nodded wearily and turned to go.

“Ah, ah!” Grimm tutted, reappearing in front of the Knight and bowing low to meet them eye to eye. “Perhaps, if it would please you, you would attend the show as well. Watching those familiar with the dance may ignite in you inspiration to improve your form.”

The Knight didn’t take this personally. The fact that they needed improvement was evident. They thought over the invitation, and eventually decided it could be worth their time. The Knight nodded.

Grimm smiled and stepped aside. “I expect you’ll want to refresh yourself before the show. Come back when you’re ready, and meet me at the back entrance.”

Grimm pointed in what must have been the direction of the aforesaid back entrance, but the Knight couldn’t see it from where they stood. It must have been behind the tiered seats, hidden in the shadows. They could probably find it on their own when they returned.

The Knight left the big top and took the stagway to King’s Station, where they handily avoided the patrolling husks to make their way to the Pleasure House.

Millibelle was there when the Knight arrived at the hot spring. She looked nervous at their approach, but they paid her no heed. They had been upset when she robbed them of their hard-earned geo, but now that they had it back they bore her no grudge.

Still, her anxious glances weighed on them and made it difficult to relax. They left quickly, stopping by Marissa’s stage hall to enjoy the ghost’s mournful song, before returning to Dirtmouth by way of a dream portal.

* * *

The Knight lingered at the back of Grimm’s tent. They had tried to find the back entrance, but the taut cloth did not yield when they pressed and tested its folds for an opening.

They began to consider making use of the front entrance, where even now the tail end of a crowd was trailing in, when a flap of fabric indistinguishable from the rest flew open to reveal Grimm standing there.

“There you are, little shadow! And not a moment too soon. Quickly, come inside. The show is about to begin.”

The Knight stepped into the darkness as Grimm held the tent flap open for them. The Knight’s lumafly lantern didn't leave them entirely in the dark, but their vision took a moment to adjust. Grimm’s hand touched their shoulder and nudged the Knight along, and they followed him into the stands.

Up a flight of stairs and high above the tiered seating was a scaffold balcony. The lone seat looked like a throne in red and mahogany.

The Knight hesitated.

Sensing their trepidation, Grimm laughed and placed his hands underneath the Knight’s arms. The Knight was swept up and into the chair without preamble. “Make yourself comfortable. I must play ringleader for a moment.”

The Knight nodded. Grimm vanished.

Then the show began. The crowd fell hushed as the lights snuffed out, and the Knight hid their lumafly lantern beneath their cloak self-consciously. Then red smoke, and swinging red lanterns, and Brumm’s music rising and filling the hazy air with its haunting melody. It reminded the Knight of the first time they met Grimm.

Grimm greeted the crowd with flare, hypnotizing them with his eloquence. He thanked them for coming, gave a bow, and vanished -- to be replaced by a host of Grimmkin spinning fiery torches and flying around the room in dizzying choreography.

The acrid scent of brimstone preempted Grimm’s return to the balcony.

“Enchanting, isn't it?” Grimm murmured from somewhere nearby. The Knight startled, and Grimm laughed quietly as he emerged from the shadows. “Sidle over, won't you?”

Before the Knight could think to protest, Grimm’s narrow frame had settled beside them in the plush seat of the chair. It was large enough for them to sit on opposite ends and not be touching, since Grimm was as thin as the widest part of their nail. But the Knight only moved enough so that Grimm could sit comfortably, so his cloak brushed the edge of their mask. They had been seated just as closely to Bretta and Quirrel on a few occasions, so the proximity didn't bother them. And Grimm was  _warm,_ as if the light of the Nightmare Lantern smoldered within him. As a being of void, warmth was hard to come by outside the hot springs littered throughout the ruins. The Knight hardly noticed the cold most of the time, but it was thrown into stark relief with the heat Grimm gave off. It lulled the Knight into a sense of calm, as if they _were_ in a hot spring.

Grimm placed his arms on the armrests, the one above the Knight warming them with its proximity.

The Knight leaned back and watched the show.

* * *

Grimm stayed by the Knight's side for the duration of the performance, only excusing himself at the end to close out the show and bid the audience a pleasant evening. The Knight surprised themselves by longing for the return of Grimm’s warmth.

They did not have to wait long for Grimm to return to their side. "So patient, little shadow. Are you tired from the late hour?"

The Knight did not require sleep as others did, except when exhausted from exerting themselves in combat. Sitting sedentary for so long was akin to a long rest for them, and in answer they shook their head.

This seemed to please Grimm. "No rest for the wicked, mm? Then perhaps you'll join me for a stroll?" The Knight accepted and followed Grimm through the back entrance to the tent, out into the cool night air.

Dirtmouth was always dark. This bore no explaining at nighttime, but even during the day there was scarcely enough light to see by. From dawn until dusk the sky was haunted by pregnant clouds, bulging with rain that never fell. The lumafly lanterns in town were always visible in the gloom, which pervaded the day just as utterly as it did the night.

When night fell, one only knew by the increased depth of the shadows at the edge of the town, and the way the already cold air became bracing. Of course, to the Knight this change in temperature was usually imperceptible. They did not feel the cold as acutely as other bugs, and even that night it did not bother them. But they _did_ notice it, which was new. They attributed this to their long hours spent inside the warm tent beside Grimm's furnace-like heat.

Grimm led them in a circuit around the edge of town, where the lumafly lanterns' glow dropped off into darkness. From the path they walked, the Knight could see everyone in town as they went about their business and settled in for the night -- or roused and began to prepare for the evening, for those few nocturnal bugs. But Grimm and the Knight traveled unseen in the darkness, like a pair of phantoms looking out upon a life they once shared with Dirtmouth's residents, but which they no longer understood.

"I wonder if you've any idea," Grimm spoke up suddenly, "how many worlds I've visited to answer the Ritual's call." The Knight would have shaken their head, but Grimm continued, not seeking an answer though his statement had begged the question. "Countless kingdoms fallen to ruin, and all manner of bug and beast have stoked the Nightmare Lantern's fire." Grimm stopped, then, and his crimson eyes landed upon his companion in appraisal.

The Knight stopped as well, transfixed by the lurid red glow of Grimm's gaze.

"And yet," Grimm said, "I have met none before quite like you. Oh, there have been many swathed in darkness, some molded by it, yes -- but you?" Grimm chuckled and shook his head, as if remembering his disbelief.  "I have never felt as if I were speaking to all the world's shadows, until I heeded your call."

The Knight suspected this could be explained by their origins, but they lacked the voice with which to express the thought. The only way for Grimm to understand would be to bring him to the Knight's birthplace -- and they doubted Grimm would willingly travel so far from his encampment. So they looked up at Grimm in silence.

Grimm laughed, and the sound echoed around them as if from three places at once. "Yes, _that_ ," he crowed with enthusiasm, gesturing with an open hand toward the Knight as if to indicate their entirety. "Your stoicism becomes you... And like a shadow true, you are not possessed with a sinister darkness." Grimm leaned down and cupped the Knight's cheek in his palm. His voice was soft as he said, "Simply the answer to the question light asks."

In the ensuing silence, Grimm's hand slid away, as if reluctant to do so. The Knight unconsciously leaned toward the departing hand and the enticing warmth it provided.

"Will you join me back at the tent? I recall asking you to seek inspiration in the performance, and perhaps you found it -- but I confess that I was struck with inspiration of my own as we watched, and I'd like to try something different with regard to your dance instruction."

The Knight would have wilted at the thought of more grueling dance practice, if they had not already stopped at the hot spring before the performance. As it was, they were as well-rested as they would ever be. They nodded, curious as to the nature of Grimm's 'inspiration' -- for though they were ashamed to acknowledge it, the Knight had not gleaned any insight of their own from the Grimmkin's dance, entertaining though it had been to watch.

"Excellent," Grimm said. "Then I will meet you there."

And the leader of the sinister troupe vanished in a plume of scarlet flame.

* * *

Brumm gave the Knight a curious look when they returned to the tent. "Master awaits you," he said, his tone giving away nothing of the thoughts playing out on his face.

The Knight nodded in thanks and began to head for the center of the ring.

Brumm placed an arm in front of them, and the Knight halted, turning to Brumm in question. "Not there," the musician amended gruffly. He pulled back a curtained partition to reveal a long, dark corridor. "Backstage."

The Knight hesitated only a moment before stepping into the corridor. Brumm let the curtain fall, and the Knight was plummeted into darkness.

Such a thing in the ruins might unnerve them. Here, though, they were at least assured of Grimm's insistence on their importance to the Ritual he was bound to perform, and the Knight did not believe they were in any real danger. There did remain the possibility that this was a test, and that Grimm laid in wait to ensure the Knight was on their toes; so they proceeded with care, their lumafly lantern held aloft as they searched the shadowed curtains and scaffolding for signs of movement.

Ahead, a small lantern flame flickered to life, and the Knight approached the unmistakable silhouette of Grimm looming over it.

Surrounding them were discarded torch sconces and lengths of hastily coiled rope; tent stakes and costumes were piled into corners and atop makeshift stools. It was the sort of detritus one might expect to find behind the scenes of a traveling circus, the Knight supposed, though they had never considered what it might look like until this moment, and they had never before encountered one before the Grimm Troupe's arrival.

Still, a space had been cleared in the center of it all, and they suspected this was where Grimm intended to practice for the evening. Grimm confirmed these suspicions when he greeted them. "Hello again, my silent cohort. Are you ready to begin?"

The Knight nodded, and Grimm bowed, signaling the beginning of their dance. He held out his hand, and the Knight took it.

A reedy melody began, slower than the Knight was accustomed to for this. They searched the darkness for Brumm, for it could be no other who offered musical accompaniment -- but a gentle claw tipped the Knight's head back toward Grimm.

"Eyes on me," Grimm murmured. The Knight nodded, and the pair began to move.

The Knight stumbled at first. It was _slow,_ and the flurry of steps they normally barreled into were stilting and ungainly as they tried to match Grimm's new, languid pace.

Grimm's eyes narrowed in amusement as he circled the Knight, but they exchanged no words. It was obvious that this was what Grimm had been referring to when he mentioned finding inspiration, and it was equally obvious that despite this new development he expected the Knight to match him step for step.

So they did.

The initial tension within the Knight, which had built up in preparation for another whirlwind demonstration, ebbed. The Knight's body thrummed in its wake, carrying them into a new kind of exhilaration as they regained their footing and stepped into the well-worn shape of the dance, but at a snail's pace.

"Good," Grimm purred. He made adjustments as they went, nudging the Knight's leg here, lifting an arm up or tilting their head in a different direction there. These corrections helped guide the Knight into the steps that followed more seamlessly, and they had a better understanding now of how the dance was meant to be. It was not intended to be a whiplash frenzy of tiresome back-and-forth, as they had experienced it thus far -- but a sequence wherein each piece flowed smoothly into the next, like a flowing river.

Upon first meeting them, the Grimm Troupe had struck the Knight as a peculiar crowd; their presence unnerved the bugs of Dirtmouth, and to even the curious and open-minded Knight they had seemed mystifying, the motivation behind their every action incomprehensible.

Yet now they thought they understood the troupe -- or Grimm, at least -- a little better. What had once seemed to the Knight a confused and nauseating riot of motion now settled into that image of a river, but a swiftly moving one. It made sense, now, expressed like this in slow motion.

The Knight leaned back when the dance called for it, and very nearly fell as they teetered on one foot. But Grimm caught them, cradling the Knight's back in his palm, and the Knight understood this, too: the moments of uncertainty were balanced out by one's confidence in their partner. When they leapt with no plans to land, or leaned back too far to support their own weight, Grimm was there to catch them and sweep them into the next part of the dance.

In this way the dance passed in a blur, but not one that overwhelmed the Knight. It was the familiarity with the steps and the ease of practiced motion, and the thrilling warmth of Grimm's patient presence, that made time seem to pass more quickly than usual.

The dance ended with a sharp note of finality in the music, and with the Knight dipped low in Grimm's arms.

Grimm rumbled with something between a growl and a trill, a wild vocalization of pleasure and approval. He butted the Knight's forehead with his own in a rush of uncontrollable affection. The Knight was too winded to stare at Grimm in disbelief, still recovering from their exertion.

"I daresay you're ready for your debut, my remarkable little shadow."

The Knight would have smiled, were it within their power to do so.


End file.
